Authors: Caroline Anderson
C
LARE
wasn’t a clock-watcher, but that afternoon she found her eyes straying to her watch with monotonous regularity. The hands seemed to crawl round, and all the time her nerves were winding up tighter and tighter.
Finally it was time to go, and with trembling hands she straightened her hair before making her way down to the main entrance.
Michael was standing by the door waiting, and as she drew nearer she could see the lines of strain etched clearly on his face.
‘Hi,’ she greeted him, her voice a little taut.
‘Hi. I thought we’d go to my place. Are you ready to go?’
She nodded. ‘My car’s round the side. Do you want me to bring it?’
‘No, I’ll walk with you.’
‘I don’t mind—I thought if your leg was still aching——’
‘I said I’ll walk with you!’ he said sharply, and her heart sank. This was never going to work.
They walked in silence round the end of the hospital building to the residence car park, and he got into her car without a word.
The drive to the cottage was accomplished in a tense silence. When they arrived, Michael got out and opened the door of the cottage, and held it for her as she went through.
It smelt slightly musty, as if he was hardly there—which of course, this week, he hadn’t been.
They went into the kitchen, and Michael reached for the kettle.
Til make a cup of tea,’ he said heavily. He sounded defeated, as if even that was too much for him.
‘Would you like me to do it?’ she offered.
‘Stop mothering me! I can cope!’ he snapped.
‘I’m sorry …’ She turned away, gripping the back of a chair with her hands until her knuckles were white. Damn it, she wasn’t going to cry!
‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just that there’s so much to say and I don’t know where to start——’
‘Do you love me?’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘You heard.’ She turned round to face him. ‘Well? Do you?’
‘Yes,’ he ground out, ‘oh, God, yes. I’ve never stopped loving you.’
‘Then why?’
He turned away. ‘Because I thought our love too new, too fragile to be asked to stand that sort of test. I had no idea then how much it was going to hurt to send you away from me. I thought, if I went to the boat, it would be easier to forget you.’ He sighed. ‘I was wrong. It was impossible to forget you. You’ve been in my thoughts every minute of every hour, every day, since I met you.’
‘And yet you doubted my love. You thought it must be pity that kept me with you. You never once asked me outright if I still loved you, and when I told you, you said I was mistaken.’
‘I couldn’t believe you could love me—not in the same way. Not after what happened.’
‘But why? What did I ever say——?’
‘In the train,’ he rasped, ‘when I was going to take off Alan Beedale’s foot, you begged me not to. You said he’d be a cripple. I knew how you felt about amputation, you’d made it quite clear the day we met. And then, when we made love, you called me your perfect hero …’
He turned towards her, and her heart wept at the anguish she saw in his face. She reached out to touch him. ‘Oh, my darling—I’ve hurt you so much. I never dreamt you’d believe I could be so shallow. Of course I love you. I always will. I never meant to hurt you …’
The hot tears spilt down her cheeks, and he lifted his hands and cupped her face. ‘Don’t cry—no more. There’ve been enough tears. Come here.’
He wrapped his arms round her and folded her into his chest.
‘I love you,’ he whispered raggedly.
‘I love you, too.’
‘Show me—please, if you mean it—show me.’
She stepped back and looked up into his face. It was still racked with doubt, tortured by the spectre of failure. She took his hand and led him slowly up the stairs.
In his room, she released his hand and unbuttoned her dress, laying it carefully over a chair before kicking off her shoes and stripping off the rest of her clothes. Then she turned to him and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, throwing it aside and turning her attention to his waistband.
It was slack. ‘You’re thinner,’ she said sadly.
‘So are you.’
She slid down the zip and pulled his trousers down, tugging off his right shoe and pushing him gently backwards until he was sitting on the bed. Then she undid the left shoe and pulled it off, and slid his trousers down.
She laid them on the chair with her dress, and then knelt in front of him to undo the strap on his artificial leg.
He flinched, but she gritted her teeth and eased up his leg, removing the prosthesis gently and laying it down beside the bed.
His skin beneath the stump sock was red and sore where the leg had pressed, and she bent and kissed it. ‘You’ve been overdoing it, haven’t you? You should rest tomorrow—I think a day in bed should do.’
She looked up at him and smiled through her tears. His eyes were bluer than she had ever seen them, and he reached out his hands and pulled her to her feet.
‘Make love to me,’ he pleaded, his voice ragged.
‘Not yet,’ she murmured. ‘You need a back-rub. Lie down—and don’t go to sleep.’
‘Fat chance,’ he laughed shakily. He eased aside the quilt and rolled on to his stomach. Clare found the bottle and knelt astride his hips, smoothing the lotion over the warm satin of his back. He groaned as she found the knots and eased and pummelled them out, and as she worked, his tension seeped away until he lay under her hands like a boneless cat.
Then the quality of her movements changed, and she could feel a different tension entering his body at the sensuous slide of her palms over his skin.
‘Turn over,’ she murmured throatily.
He obeyed, his eyes as they met hers blazing with need.
‘You are so beautiful,’ she whispered. Then she knelt over him and lowered herself carefully.
He groaned and reached for her, pulling her down into his arms.
‘You’re a witch!’ he breathed, his heart pounding beneath her ear. ‘Oh, Clare, I can’t hold back.’
‘Then don’t. There’s always next time.’
He began to move, his body urgent beneath her, and suddenly she felt the tension coiling within her, threatening to explode.
‘Michael!’ she cried, and then the world shattered about her and she collapsed, sobbing, in his arms.
It was a long time before either of them could move. She lay sprawled, half on, half off him, their legs tangled, hands meshed together over his heart.
‘Do you believe me now?’ she asked him quietly.
‘Oh, yes—finally, I believe you. I’m sorry I doubted you. I don’t know why I did.’
‘Oh, I do,’ she said. ‘If I’d had a mastectomy I would have found it very hard to imagine you would want me.’
‘Clare, that’s ridiculous! Of course I’d want you—I’d be sad, dreadfully sad, but there’s no way it would affect my love for you, except to make it deeper.’
She twirled the hair on his chest idly with one finger.
‘Then why did you find it so hard to believe in me?’
He sighed. ‘I think I was just afraid that you might not love me enough. God, I missed you. I was so lonely without you.’
‘Was that why you slept with Jo Harding?’ she asked quietly.
‘What?’ He levered himself up on one elbow and
stared down at her, his face puzzled. I’ve never slept with Jo. What are you talking about?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Please don’t lie to me. I saw and heard you. We were all at that party—last week. I was on the landing looking for Deborah when you and Jo came out of the bedroom. You were all rumpled, and she said, “Better?” and you said it was fantastic, and she said it was a pleasure getting her hands on your gorgeous body—I wanted to scratch her eyes out!’
‘Clare, look at me.’ She opened her eyes. He looked sad, and very sincere. ‘She had just given me a back massage. I told you I’d had trouble with it recently.’
‘What about the other times I saw you with her?’
‘She’s been fantastic—I know she looks like a vamp, but she’s got a heart of pure gold. She sat for hour after hour and listened to me while I rambled on about you, and she made me endless cups of coffee and mopped up my tears.’
‘Tears?’
‘Oh, God, yes—Clare, I was dying without you. There’s no way I could have had an affair with anyone else, believe me. She gave me friendship. That’s all it was—totally innocent friendship.’
‘It didn’t seem it,’ she said doubtfully.
‘It was, I promise. How could you think otherwise?’
‘You once said to me that when a beautiful woman throws herself at your feet, it takes a hell of a man to walk away. I didn’t blame you. She’s very lovely.’
‘Oh, Clare. I was trying to put you off me. I thought if I cheapened our love, then you’d hate me. You never threw yourself at me. You gave yourself—and it’s a gift I’ll always treasure. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
She reached up and touched his cheek. ‘I deserved
it. You know I told you Andrew was better in bed than you? I never slept with him. I was just getting back at you—I was so angry with you for suggesting we were having an affair that I wanted to let you think it.’
He laughed and hugged her close. ‘It took me all of forty-eight hours to work that one out. Not even I’m thick enough to believe that you could do that.’
‘You aren’t thick.’ She kissed him gently. ‘Tell me, why was Pop angry with you?’
‘He couldn’t believe I was going to break off our engagement. He said I was doing you a grave injustice, and if I really thought that you didn’t love me, then I probably didn’t deserve you. He said I wasn’t to go and see him again until you were back in my life.’ He laughed. ‘I might have known he was right.’
She snuggled closer. ‘I’m glad he was. The thought of my life yawning away ahead of me without you in it was so awful—thank God I’ve got you back.’ She dug him in the ribs. ‘And in future, if you need a back-rub, I’ll do it!’
He laughed, a low, sexy laugh. ‘Oh, promises, promises.’
Clare sat up and smiled down at him mischievously. ‘Tell me,’ she purred, ‘who’s best?’
He laughed. ‘Oh, Jo definitely—ouch! No, she does a pretty mean back-rub, but I must say, you have a more interesting finish.’
Clare laughed in delight. ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ She lay back down in the warmth of his arms.
‘I love you, Michael,’ she said quietly. ‘Please don’t ever forget it.’
‘Never,’ he vowed, his voice vibrant with emotion. ‘I’ll never doubt you again, I promise, and, if it takes me a lifetime to prove it to you, so be it. Now,’ he
rolled away from her and grinned, ‘didn’t you offer to make the tea?’
‘Are you trying to get me out of bed?’
His grin widened. ‘You could bring the tray up.’
She smiled. ‘How terribly decadent!’
‘Mmm.’ His eyes gleamed, that missing spark firmly back in place.
‘On the other hand,’ she said, casually trailing her nails over his chest, ‘I could always get the tea later——’
He groaned and reached for her. ‘Forget the tea,’ he said with a husky laugh. ‘I’ve just had a better idea …’
ISBN: 9781472060099
A PERFECT HERO
© Caroline Anderson 2013
First Published in Great Britain in 2013
Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
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